


Timothy Drake and the Case of The Immortal Ladybug

by TheDancingDragon81



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Backround MariDami, Blame the Maribat Discord, But we will focus more on that later, Dick Grayson is Confused, F/M, Gen, MariBat, Marinette eats chocolate eclairs wrong and you can't change my mind about that, Marinette is a vampire, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tikki is confused, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is a conspiracy theorist, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDancingDragon81/pseuds/TheDancingDragon81
Summary: Timothy Drake always knew there was something strange about his little brother's girlfriend. If only everyone else could see it too!(Or the !Au In which good old Timmers is convinced that Marinette is a vampire and sets out to prove it.)
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Tim Drake/Coffee
Comments: 50
Kudos: 450





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-Read by the amazing Ethel on the Maribat discord~ And by 'Beta-Read' I mean she takes my dumpster-fire grammar and turns it into something you can actually read without dying internally. 
> 
> She has an account here on Ao3, so please go read her stuff! Especially her Maribat works! Totally awesome!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthelPhantom/pseuds/EthelPhantom

It started, like most things tend to do; as a joke. A bit of banter between brothers. Nothing more, nothing less. In hindsight, Tim blames Jason. He should blame Dick because If he hadn’t suggested that trip to the museum, this would have never happened. But actually, it's Jason's fault. 

It was Damian’s birthday and he’d wanted to check out the latest exhibit at the Flugelheim, Gotham’s most prestigious art gallery. So, of course, Dick had decided that this was the perfect time for some brotherly bonding. This was fine, Tim had reluctantly acquiesced to join them. Provided of course, that he could bring his tablet along with him. He was a CEO after all, and some idiot down in R&D had leaked the latest data from their new prototype smartphone and the press were having a field day. Normally this wouldn’t be such a problem, _but_ the data leaked was the third infraction in two months from one of WayneTech’s most secure labs, and they ran the risk of losing a lot of their recent developments to Lexcorp if this kept up. 

As it was, he also had to prepare the notes for tomorrow’s board-meeting and run that analysis on the latest batch of tainted heroin that Jason had confiscated from a bunch of kids. They weren’t getting it from the usual suppliers, and whilst the drug trade had calmed down since Red Hood first took over, there had been an increased amount of drug-related deaths in the last few months, which, whilst not strictly unusual, was _incredibly_ frustrating. 

Groaning slightly, Tim puts down his tablet for a brief second in favor of tuning in to the latest _discussion_ between his two most violent brothers.

  
“Hey Demon Spawn-” Jason’s arm comes up to casually rest upon Damian’s head, ruffling the perfectly combed locks. To his credit, or, Tim supposes, to the credit of Dick and Marinette, the little hellion barely even growls. He does jerk violently, hands twitching with the repressed urge to grab his concealed knives and slit Jason’s throat. He’s come such a long way, Tim’s actually pretty proud of him. And if Dick’s radiant smile is any indication, so is he.  
  
  
“What do you want imbecile?” Another violent hand spasm.  
  
  
Jason whistles lightly, deliberately ignorant to the vague aura of death emanating from somewhere underneath his callouses, seemingly oblivious to all but the painting in front of him.  
  
  
“Don’t you think this bitch looks a lot like our resident bug?” 

  
It seems to catch the attention of all of the present robins barring himself, as he gives the painting a cursory glance before he’s straight back to typing a relatively aggressive email to one of their shareholders. As Dick stops passively flirting with the flustered tour guide to give the painting an appreciative hum. “Didn’t that one girl in Mari’s class post something like this on the ladyblog? Egyptian hieroglyphs right?” He sends a curious side glance to Damian, whose attention is firmly absorbed in the painting, tracing the gentle strokes of red and black.  
  
  
“Yes—” Jason raises an eyebrow at how distracted Damian appears all of a sudden “—but those pathetic excuses of historical art depicted ancient ladybugs, not ancient ladybug’s in their _civilian_ form.”  
  
  
And _that_ is what catches Tim’s attention, and he finds himself pushing forward to see for himself because _holy shit_ he’s right. 

Now that he’s paying attention the portrait looks nothing like Ladybug — but the subject looks exactly like Marinette, right down to the vibrant color of her sky blue irises. It has Tim’s inner paranoia screaming, and his mind instantly begins to brainstorm theories, oblivious intense focus perfectly balanced with Damian’s love-struck swooning. (He was totally swooning. No matter what he claimed, Damian was definitely swooning.)  
  
  
Jason huffs a laugh, clamping down a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us little brother—” His smirk widens, “—To think the newest addition to the family is a vampire. You know what they say after all: love _bites._ ”  
  
  
“Tt.” Damian swats at the hand in irritation, the moment broken. He sneers. “Cease your pattering, Todd.” His chin raises haughtily in the air. “My angel is perfectly human, which is more than I can say for you, _zombie_ .”  
  
  
Jason smirks wider, clearly ready to push the subject when Dick swoops in to cut off the impending argument, steering Damian away and chattering like a mother bird. “Look, Damian, doesn’t this look interesting? Didn’t you tell me you were a big fan of Rosetti earlier?” 

Damian huffs up like an offended kitten at the idea of being… a _fan_ of something, but regardless he takes the bait. “You are mistaken Richard. I said nothing of the sort.” He does relax though, shoulders slumping slightly as he admires yet another piece. Jason's lagging behind them, resuming to an occasional remark along with some snide comment that makes Dick stifle a grin and Damian roll his eyes.  
  
  
Tim however, Tim is frozen in front of the painting from earlier. He is examining every aspect with excruciating detail as the guide from earlier slides next to him, still brimming with endorphins from her earlier conversation with his brother.  
  
  
“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

Tim gives a noncommittal grunt vaguely aware that he sounds like Bruce and is in desperate need of another coffee. “The artist’s name is Eleanor Bronwyn. It’s unusual for such a piece to be featured in an exhibition like this. A lot of the great works of the victorian era mainly feature male artists since pieces like this were considered far less valuable as they were created by females to fill what was considered to be a largely male profession.”

Tim flashes her a vaguely fake smile as she continues. “Do you know who the subject is?”   
  
  
The guide shakes her head. “No. In fact, many consider the piece to be completely fictional due to the, er, unusual subject nature. Personally, I assume that the piece would have been based off someone familiar to the artist, a wealthy widow perhaps?”  
  
  
Tim turns as the guide moves on to the next group of admirers, flashing his phone quickly to stealthily capture a photo of the painting. Technically photography wasn’t allowed at events like this, but as it was for personal use, Tim was more than content with breaking a few rules. He quickly sends the photo to his personal computer before wiping it from his phone, lest he be caught by security, or, heaven forbid, his brothers.  
  
  
Speaking of which, he should probably catch up to them. 

His paranoia spikes as he walks away, and Tim throws one last glance over his shoulder towards the painting.  
  
  
Yes.  
  
  
He would be investigating this later. 

* * *

Tim's fingers twitch, itching for yet another mug of caffeinated heaven. He was only on his seventh, not nearly enough to keep this investigation going if he wants to dig deeper into the mystery that is _Marinette Dupain-Cheng_.  
  
  
So far he’d barely made any real progress, neither on the artist herself or the subject of the eerily familiar painting, let alone her name. Both the painting and the artist were well known in the historical art community, praised by both casual admirers and famous critics alike, but even so, there was still barely anything to identify the painting, other than the signature of one Eleanor Bronwyn scrawled in the bottom corner. An Eleanor Bronwyn, who aside from the painting, seemed not to exist. No presence, no documents, nothing. The only scrap of viable evidence Tim had to go off regarding this particular investigation was the date, and even then radiocarbon dating isn’t entirely accurate.  
  
  
Which is why he had a separate investigation running on the monitor next to his laptop. A program he specifically designed for running facial recognition software against historical documents such as paintings, statues, carvings, old newspaper clippings, etc. Originally, he’d designed it in fear that one of the family members might become trapped in the past again, to avoid another repeat of the time that Bruce was… “dead” and no one believed him.  
  
  
He was also running a cross-reference with old stories and legends that may match someone of Marinette’s description. So far nothing had turned up on that front that could be considered definitive proof but while there was nothing perfectly conclusive to say that Marinette was an immortal vampire… he just couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t all that she seemed. 

Which was difficult to process.  
  
  
See, the thing is, Tim _likes_ Marinette. She’s kind, a decent superhero and she’s good for his little brother, and for all intents and purposes she was a member of the family.  
  
  
Which means that a small part of him regrets the fact that he’s looking so much into this. To one weirdly similar painting, which could be completely coincidental.  
  
  
But Tim knows better than to ignore it. He likes Marinette, he really does, as do they all. But, he needs to ensure that his family is safe, it’s his job to protect them from possible threats. Ladybug or no, Tim needs to know that Marinette is exactly who she says she is, however ridiculous the theory may seem, or else it’s on his head when the family falls. And Tim will not let his family fall. 

He sighs, reluctantly diverting his attention back to his laptop and away from the monitors. He really should finish this report, but first... He eyes the bottom of his empty cup mournfully. Another cup of coffee.  
  


* * *

It’s four in the morning when Tim kicks open the door to Dick’s room, ignoring his brother’s muttered swear as he holds out his tablet and shakes it victoriously.  
  
  
“Timmy, what the hell!?!” 

Tim ignores Dick, waving his hand a little as Dick stares at him. “I knew it. I knew there was something off about that painting.” He starts to pace.  
  


“Tim, what…? Are you okay?” Dick’s looking at him in slight concern now, he should probably tone it down a little on the pacing but he can’t. Thirty cups of coffee can do that to a guy. That, and he hasn’t slept in a few days, but that's semantics.

  
  
“She’s a vampire, Dick. I wasn’t sure at first, I didn’t want it to be true— but it all makes sense now!” 

“ _Ooookay_ .” Dick has his hands up in confusion, tense he edges towards Tim unsure of quite what to do in this situation. “Who’s a vampire?”  
  
  
“Marinette! Keep up Dick. What are we going to do? Do we tell Bruce? Of course we tell Bruce. He’s Bruce. Maybe we should call Zatanna? No, she’s off-world at the moment.” Tim continues to pace, running his hand frustratedly through his hair, tugging harshly on a few tangles.

“You… you think Mari’s a vampire?” Dick snorts, relaxing. “Don’t tell me you believe what Jason said, do you? He was joking, Timmers.”

“No, you don’t understand, there’s evidence Dick—” Tim falters as Dick grabs him gently by the shoulders, chuckling to himself.- “She— she was there— in Milan, and in London, and—” Dick cuts him off with another easy chuckle. Come on Timmers, let’s get you to bed, shall we? When was the last time you slept, hmm?” There. A flash of genuine concern, quickly masked once more by amusement. “Now I’m going to take this—” Deft fingers snatch Tim’s tablet before he can think to tighten his hold, whilst Dick’s other hand steers him from behind. It’s warm and comforting, and Tim can admit that _yes,_ maybe he does need to sleep for a bit, but no, _this is real why won’t Dick take him seriously?_

Tim makes a noise of protest as Dick pushes him gently towards the bed, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his brother’s merciless tutting. “Now just go to sleep little brother, you can return to this—” Dick snorts again as he turns it off tucking the tablet under his arm, “—tomorrow. Or else I’ll tell Alfred.” And _That_ shuts down any further protests., as Tim begrudgingly lies down, scrunching his eyes in an attempt to appease Dick. 

He catches the tail end of Dick’s sigh on the way out. “—wish you wouldn’t do this.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d bring it up again.

* * *

  
  


Hindsight is twenty-twenty as they say and Dick has once again rejected his theory. It didn’t sting as much as he thought — even the time travel theory had seemed more believable than this, but it doesn’t mean he’s giving up.  
  
  
He pins the photo of the painting to his corkboard. ( _Yes_ , it’s a conspiracy board.) Fine. He’d just have to gather enough evidence that they couldn’t dispute it.  
  
  
Cracking his knuckles, he smirks. _Bring it on Marinette. Bring it on.  
_  
  
The first post is up and Tim takes a breath, glancing at his watch. Right. Board meeting today. Priorities.  
  
  
Later. He’d call Zatanna later. 

* * *

Marinette sneezed, completely unaware of the terror she’d accidentally unleashed on the Wayne household. Instead, she giggles joyfully as she relentlessly beats Damian in Mario Kart again and again, winning _every,_ _single,_ _time,_ much to Jason and Dick’s amusement.  
  
  
These were definitely some of her favorite humans.  
  



	2. Of Investigations and Interrogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim does research, and a wild Tikki appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter was edited/beta-read by the lovely and amazing EthelPhantom~ I beg of you to go check out her work because she's awesome! (And she's the only reason this story is here, without her my flaming pile of writing trash would not be anything close to legible) 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthelPhantom/pseuds/EthelPhantom

The first order of business, Tim decides, is to delve further into Marinette’s — _If that were her real name_ — supposed appearances in Milan, London and New York. All three cities were considered to be the fashion capitals of the world. Coincidence? Or further evidence? 

Evidence. Definitely evidence. Paris made for the complete quadfecta. Perhaps fashion was in fact a real hobby of this immortal — or just an extremely detailed cover story. After all, centuries of accumulated knowledge meant for an easy infiltration back into the industry whenever she wanted. Certainly a layer of protection against any _enthusiastic_ individuals who may pry just that little bit further.

  
  
Tim could admit that it was a clever ploy, because after all, if no one questioned you, there was no need to hide. Marinette existed so far out of the darkness that he could not rightfully say she was attempting to actively hide her immortality. _Although_ , he pauses. Maybe that _was_ the intention. Hiding in plain sight, close enough to the light to be seen, but far enough away that she was always just in the background.

  
  
Tim could feel his lips curling as his hands absently clack away at the keyboard, clicking on an article, eyes greedily drinking in the information. Oh what luck! This was irrefutable. There was no way the family could dispute this now! Pausing briefly to pin the latest compilation of evidence to his conspiracy board, Tim steps back to admire his handiwork. Truthfully speaking, this was always his favourite part. His fingers reach out to fiddle with another trail of red twine.

  
  
There was something magical about a good theory coming together, and whilst London hadn’t exactly given him what he wanted, there was a good chance he’d discover it later. But Milan? New York? _Goldmines_.

  
  
He shuts the door just as he finishes the latest blog post, only feeling marginally guilty about the fact he was giving away Ladybug — No not Ladybug’s — _Marinette’s_ identity. Well, he didn’t actually mention her name in the post, but it wasn’t like he was concealing it either. Like, say, she was concealing her vampirism. If someone just happened to make the connection between M.D.C., the immortal fashion designer and young Marinette Dupain-Cheng, _an up and coming_ designer in the Paris fashion world, that was not his fault.

  
  
Sliding into the kitchen, Tim takes a moment to reevaluate the situation. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his assumptions. Yes, he had the evidence. But is it enough?

  
  
His lips purse. _No. It isn’t._

  
  
It was enough to sew some doubt at least, but to avoid a repeat of last time, he should probably gather more evidence.

  
  
No matter, there were plenty of avenues to explore after all.   
  


Pouring himself a fresh mug of rich arabica, Tim seats himself at the counter and muses silently to himself.

  
  
 _Yes_ , there were plenty of avenues to explore. Starting with Marinette herself. Or, more accurately, her _kwami.  
  
_

* * *

  
  


Tim clears his throat a little, feeling strangely out of place despite this being _his_ bedroom. Which was weird, because this definitely wasn’t the strangest interview he’d conducted.

  
  
“Thank you for meeting with me, Tikki. I understand that you don’t like being separated from your holder for so long so I’ll try to keep this brief.” He presses play on the record-button of his phone.

  
  
“Now as I understand it, you’ve been with Marinette for three years, correct? In that time have you noticed anything… _strange_ about your current holder?”

The kwami of creation floats gently just a little above the phone. “Strange? Marinette is very unusual—” The lilting voice of the tiny goddess trails off for a moment, thinking hard. “—She used to keep all these pictures of Adrien, all over her room, before she grew out of her crush. Is that what you mean?”

  
  
Tim sighs, potential blackmail? _Yes._ Evidence? _No._ “What about other things?” He queries. “Like...” He halts thinking of potential red flags. “—Like an avoidance of spending extended periods of time in direct sunlight, or unusual eating habits?”

  
  
Tikki’s antennae dance in contemplation. “Marinette does tend to avoid spending a lot of time in the sun, but that’s because she has very sensitive skin. She always uses an extra-strong type of sunblock whenever Ladybug has to fight in the daytime. It’s very hard to get.” _Bingo._

“And what about eating habits? Is there anything you’ve noticed she likes to, say, take a _bite_ of that you find alarming?”

  
  
Tikki frowns, and Tim internally winces. Probably coming on a bit too strong there, better tone it back a bit. 

“It’s just—” He continues, “— I really want to get her something personal for Christmas. But I don’t want to get her the same gift as the rest of my brothers, and I know Alfred would appreciate it if we could have her favourite snacks on hand for family dinner.” _There_. Mentioning Alfred always seemed to have a positive effect on the kwami, especially since he was a former miraculous holder himself.

  
  
“I understand.” Tikki smiles before clapping her hands. _Crisis averted._ “Marinette does have an unusual love for sneaking around at night and biting—” Her voice drops to a whisper. Tim strains his ears, masking his excitement. _Necks? Blood bags? People?_ “—Chocolate eclairs,” Tikki finishes and Tim very carefully does not let his face drop in disappointment.

  
  
“Chocolate eclairs? What’s unusual about that” 

Tikki giggles. “It’s the way she bites them, silly. Right in the middle, instead of starting at the end. I’ve never had a wielder who eats pastries like that.”

Tim goes to open his mouth just as a voice calls out Tikki’s name. Instead, he presses stop on the recording and pockets his phone. Not a complete bust, but nothing that could really be used as proper evidence either. He’d have to look elsewhere.

  
  
Marinette calls for Tikki again and Tim stands quickly opening the door with a wink. “Thanks for the information. You were very helpful.” Tikki beams and Tim offers the kwami a small smile of his own, pressing a finger to his lips as he winks and points out the hall. “You should probably get going before she worries too much.” 

He shuts the door, careful to ensure that it is indeed locked before he flips his conspiracy board over and scribbles down a quick post-it note. He’d have to analyze this.

  
  
Tim taps the pen to his mouth as he thinks. It shouldn’t be that difficult to arrange for a day to study this. He could arrange for an outing to the beach. Full sun, minimal shade equals limited opportunities for relief from the exposure. All he had to do was suggest it to Dick, that Marinette probably didn’t get to go to the beach that often, living in the middle of Paris with two busy parents and his older brother would handle the rest. Hell, he’d probably ‘force’ Tim to come along under the excuse of ‘ family bonding’. 

  
  
Perfect chance for Tim to analyze the components of Marinette’s sunblock. Perhaps it was magical? Something to keep Vampire skin from combusting under the sun rays. Tim grimaced. He’d need to send it to Zatanna, or maybe he’d be better off sending it to Constantine. Constantine was less likely to report the findings to Dick, or Bruce. Easier to keep this whole situation under the radar until he had further proof.

  
  
Besides, so far it wasn’t like Marinette had _done_ anything other than conceal the fact that she’s an immortal. Don’t get him wrong, that _will_ need to be addressed, preferably by the entire family, but he’d settle for just Damian and Marinette if necessary. The whole point of this investigation is to ensure that his brother understands exactly what he’s getting into with Marinette. And perhaps to prove that Tim isn’t insane, but that’s just a bonus.

_And_ while it was wreaking havoc with his paranoia, he should probably dial down the intensity of the investigation on Marinette unless, of course, there was something incredibly wrong within his findings — such a definitive case of murder or a secret cult or something.

  
  
Like he said, Tim _liked_ Marinette. He wanted to trust her. She was a good addition to the family, and so long as she wasn’t secretly a mass murderer, they _could_ probably work around her vampirism. But just because he liked her didn’t mean he wasn’t going to build a case file the size of W.E.

  
  
Nor did it mean he was going to quit his investigation _or_ his blog. This was a _challenge,_ she was _challenging_ him with her secrets and Tim had no intention of losing. He was nothing if not persistent. 

Besides, he was actually _enjoying_ this _._ It had been a while since he’d been able to exercise his mind as _Tim._ Not as Red Robin with a case. It was almost fun. He’d always loved investigation, first as a boy with a camera, and then as a teenager chasing after Bruce. That hadn’t changed, but it had become draining over time — the grittiness of crime scene investigation, the hollow victory when you were too slow to prevent another victim. It’s nice to investigate something that didn’t immediately bombard him with a body count. 

Tim makes a mental note to inform Alfred that Marinette like chocolate eclairs as he flips the conspiracy board back over to its regular position as a board for his Gotham photography. Alfred probably already knew — he’s _Alfred_ after all — but it wouldn’t hurt to give himself a little bit of cover in case his interview with Marinette’s was discovered. At least, that’s what he tells himself anyway.   
  


Hmm, _why_ does Marinette eat eclairs from the middle outwards? That’s so _weird._

Maybe it’s a vampire thing? 

Probably not, but Tim makes a note to investigate it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the second chapter complete! What did you think? Do you like the current chapter length or would you prefer longer chapters, but with less frequent updates*? 
> 
> And remember if there's anything you'd like to see, drop it in a comment below and it may or may not appear a few chapters later!
> 
> *I don't have a rigid updating schedule, and it really depends on how invested I feel in a project, but expect at least a few chapters a month (Until I run out of ideas and I find the need to stab the great dragon of writer's block with a sword)

**Author's Note:**

> Tim's conspiracy tumblr can be found here: 
> 
> https://redrobbinyourcoffeebeans.tumblr.com/


End file.
